The Gardener
by elektralyte
Summary: AU. An angsty explanation of what Yamcha's life might have been like before Dragonball and why he was living on his own. YamMar pairing.


**The Gardener**

By Elektra12

_**Disclaimer:** I write for fun, not profit and Dragonball/Z/Gt is owned by Funimation and others. It is not owned by me._

_**Rating:** T or PG15_

_**Genre:** Angst/Drama_

_**Summary**: AU. An angsty explanation of what Yamcha's life might have been like before Dragonball and why he was living on his own. Yam/Mar pairing._

_**Warning:** Definitely AU. This is dark, with talk of abuse, but nothing graphic. This is why I rated it T instead of M._

_**A/N: **I wanted to write some stories about Yamcha's life as a desert bandit and ended up writing this. I don't know where this all came from because my tendency is to write fluff or humor. Please R&R._

o-o-o

_Once upon a time an old man was tending his garden when he came across a strange, small little plant. Anyone else would have considered it a weed, but the old man was touched by it's struggle for survival and began tending to it. Soon it grew stronger and while it wasn't what anyone would consider beautiful, the old man could see it had potential._

_One day a storm swept through the land. It's winds brought much destruction and devastation everywhere. When it was over the old man ran as fast as he could to his garden to see what damage was wrought. _

_What he saw broke his heart. Many of his plants and flowers were bent, turned over or broken beyond repair. But what truly caused him pain was the loss of his strange little plant. It was nowhere to be seen for the storm winds had up rooted it and carried it away._

_And the old man wept, for he would never know into what his little plant would become… _

o-o-o

The world was a gray, cold and empty place. As a tiny air car sliced through the cloudy sky, its occupant scanned the landscape looking for a specific ki signature. The ki signature was spotted and the small air vehicle slowed down near an expansive, green hillside. When the craft landed, its pilot came out and critically surveyed the area. What she mistook for grass was actually weeds. A badly rusted wrought iron fence delineated the rough tract of land that she sought. Its gate was open and swayed helplessly in the wind. The patch gave one the impression of an untended garden whose crop happened to be oddly shaped stones. Towards the southeast corner of the lot she spotted her quarry and tracked her way to his position. He sat by one of the stones, legs crossed Indian style, elbows at knees, and head bowed into cupped hands.

She approached him cautiously and sat down next to him. She reached out to touch his hair and was startled when he spoke.

"Marron?" He asked her, voice muffled through hands.

"Yamcha? What are you doing here baby?"

Yamcha didn't answer. It was as if he didn't hear her.

"Baby? Please look at me…" She begged.

He lifted his head from his hands and she gasped when she saw his face. His complexion was so pale that his scars appeared to float on the surface of his skin. His hair, which had grown out a little since the last cut, was disheveled. His eyes were puffy and sore looking. But, what worried her most was the pain reflected in his eyes, and that underneath the pain, was desperation.

For the past couple of weeks, her husband seemed to be in a melancholy funk. The condition accelerated as the days passed until finally he just got up and left, muttering something about coming home by dinnertime. Marron let him go; simply thinking he needed space. Yamcha was a wanderer since his youth and even now would go on little walkabouts, so she was used to this. As the day grew long however, she got a nagging feeling that if she didn't go find him now, she wasn't going to see him at dinner. She feared she wasn't going to see him ever again.

"Please Yamcha, why are you here, in this place?" She pleaded, needing the answer more than she needed air at that moment.

He looked around, as if realizing for the first time that he was in a graveyard. Then his eyes cut back to the stone in front of him. It read Kitano Yoshiro, Beloved, Husband, Father and Grandfather. 688 A.D. – 743 A.D.

"I was trying to remember my grandfather. My real father," he finally replied, a bit hoarsely.

'Is this it?' She thought. 'Am I finally going to find out what's wrong?'

"Is that who this is?" She asked, pointing to the head stone.

"Huh? Well yes, he's my granddad." He stammered.

Yamcha didn't want to explain his reasons for being here. He foolishly believed that this part of his life happened so long ago that it had no bearing in his new life. The fact that his wife had to track him down to this place proved otherwise.

He saw the expectation in Marron's face and thought, "all right then, I guess I have a story to tell."

"I never told you much about my life before I became a desert bandit, have I?" He asked as he rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. Marron shook her head no.

He sighed, the opened his arms as an invitation. Marron scooted over as he uncrossed his legs and made a space for her. She settled into place and rested her back against his chest, willing her warmth to him. Yamcha dropped his chin on her shoulder and kissed her neck lightly. Then he straightened up and began his story.

"My mother, was in love with a man named Taro. They met when she was still in high school and he was trying to save money so that he could open an auto garage. I guess he was a few years older than she and a bit more mature. Anyway, she wanted to marry him, but he wanted them to wait until she was older and had the approval of all the parents."

Marron smiled at this. Even though she was legally old enough to marry without consent, Yamcha had insisted that they wait until she was twenty-one. He wanted her to be a true adult when they finally became man and wife.

"Anyway," he continued, "my mother was very impatient and spoiled. She decided that maybe Taro wasn't sincere about marriage and started seeing other men, particularly Taro's best friend Asakawa Nanashi. Well, one thing led to another and my mother 'had' to marry Nanashi. Nine months later, I was born."

Marron tried to turn around and look at Yamcha but he hugged her too tightly, so she held her peace and let him continue.

"It was a scandalous period in the family's history. My grandmother, was the least happy of all. She did all that she could to break-up my parent's marriage, and she succeeded. My father left after a year and I only saw him one other time in my life. He left me his sword on my fifth or sixth birthday. My mother and grandmother tried to get rid of it, but my grandfather kept it because it was too good to throw away.

A year later, I think, my mother married Taro. He became my father then. Everyone was glad to see my mother marry the man she should have married in the first place. He was respectable, hardworking and by then owned his own business. He had a lot of confidence in my mother too. He thought that she could be a talented teacher and he pushed her to go to night school and made her study. It was pretty amazing considering that men in those days wanted their wives to stay at home and cook. Heh. He hated her cooking. He said she could only burn water and that we'd be better off if she got a job so we could afford a housekeeper."

"Sounds like a lot of people respected him." Marron interrupted finally managing to break his grip so she could turn around and face him.

"They did. And in many ways, he earned that respect." Yamcha conceded.

"But…" Marron filled in, knowing there was a catch.

"But," he continued, "But I hated the bastard." He stated it as if it were a fact and without any emotion.

"Why? What did he do that was so bad? Did he hate kids or…he didn't like you, did he?"

Yamcha smiled emptily at his wife's perceptiveness. "Taro was a people person and he loved kids. All the kids in the village would come to my father's shop. He always had sodas for them and would hold baseball games in our big backyard every other weekend. He had time and love for every kid in the village, except for his own son."

He stopped talking and stared off in the distance. It seemed like he had said all that he was going to say.

Marron was confused. Her husband was many things; goofy, sarcastic, good-natured, loyal and a bit of a whiner now and then, but he wasn't a crybaby. Yet, she knew he had been crying because she could see it in his face. The thing was, everything he'd been telling her so far, he related to her dispassionately. If what he had been telling her upset him so much, then he should be having a harder time telling her this, right? Maybe there was more to the story.

"Yamcha!" She goaded, "What else is there? What's really bothering you?"

Yamcha's eyes came back into focus, as if he had woken from a dream. "Sorry, I was just remembering."

"What honey? Tell me. I can't help if I don't know what's wrong."

Yamcha narrowed his eyes and accused darkly, "Who said I needed help?"

Frustrated, Marron answered, "Nobody! It's just an observation from your wife, okay? But if you don't want my help, then never mind!"

Marron angrily attempted to stand up, but Yamcha grabbed her hand and held her down for a second.

"No…don't go. It's just that I haven't ever told anyone this before, and I don't know why I feel this way. Will you let me finish? Please?"

Marron nodded and sat back down. She felt tired. Lately this lethargy was becoming routine. Maybe all his moodiness was wearing her out.

Yamcha hesitated, and then pressed on. "When I was eight years old, I realized that my life was different than that of other kids." He paused, not wanting to say what he had to say.

"You know how I have that problem of being late? You know, the one where sometimes I won't show up at all if I know that too much time has gone by?"

Marron knew exactly what he was talking about. Every woman who had ever been with Yamcha from her all the way back to Bulma knew about "The Zone of YT" or "Yamcha Time". He was perpetually late for everything and occasionally a no show. It drove every one of his girlfriends except Marron crazy. She put up with it because he didn't mind shopping with her or her fixation for all things pink. All in all, it seemed like a fair trade to her.

"Taro was a stickler for punctuality. He hated tardiness. For some reason it drove him crazy."

It started to dawn on Marron that she wasn't going to like what he had to say next.

"I got a beating everyday for as long as I lived in that man's house."

Marron was horrified. "He beat you?"

"Well, not like the alcoholic rage beating that some kids got. I mean, it didn't even hurt after awhile. I sorta got used to it, and then I thought it was normal."

"Kami baby, why everyday?"

"Like I said before, Taro hated tardiness and I was never on time for anything. So, I got a beating everyday." Yamcha explained as if what he was saying was self-evident.

Marron was about to weep now. "Why didn't you tell anyone this, what about your mother? Didn't she try and stop him?"

"Truthfully? Nobody ever thought badly of my father. My own mother thought I was the problem and maybe deserved what I got. The only person who believed in me and thought I was any good was my granddad."

"You mean this man?" She asked, pointing to the grave stone.

"Yeah. That man. Anything good I learned when I was a kid, I learned from my grandfather. I ran away from home when I was nine and I went to my grandparent's house in the country. Those were the best two years of my life."

Marron scooted closer to him and leaned against his shoulder. She rubbed his back encouragingly, hoping that he would go on.

"My grandfather was a gardener. He never seemed to have much to say and everybody always thought that he would never amount to anything. But I knew better. Did you know my granddad was my first sensei?"

Marron shook her head. Yamcha smirked at his own forgetfulness.

"Right, I hadn't talked about him before. Anyway, the way I understood it, granddad was a pretty good fighter. Good enough to win tournaments, although he never entered in any of the World Tournaments.

My grandmother didn't approve of fighting and wanted him to get a real job. I guess he must have loved her because he gave up fighting for her. He still gave lessons though, and I was one of his students. He was the one who taught me how to use my father's sword as a matter of fact.

As a teacher, granddad managed to be firm without being overbearing. He always made me feel as if I could do anything as long as I gave it my best."

Yamcha paused for a moment as if considering something. "Taro tried to teach me things too, you know? Like baseball for instance, but he was always critical of me. Even though I was good, I was never good enough for him."

He realized he had digressed and continued his story.

"I would have stayed with my granddad forever if my mom hadn't begged me to come back home. She really missed me and by that time she and Taro realized they couldn't have children together. I had to choose between my grandparents and my parents then. I really thought that my parents wanted me back, so I went home when I was eleven.

That was a mistake. For the first few months, things were fine, good even. But then, things started going back to the way they were before I ran away. Things came to a head when my granddad died of a heart attack that year. I felt angry and guilty. I thought it was my fault he died because I chose Taro instead of him. I know better now, but I really thought that then.

One day he and I got into our worst argument ever. I don't even remember what it was about, but the end result was that he tried to beat me again. The thing was, I could fight back and I knocked Taro out, even though I was only eleven. He was only out for seconds, but my mom thought I killed him. I couldn't stand how she was looking at me, so I grabbed what I could carry, along with my sword and ran away for good. I never went back."

The wind began to pick up and Yamcha noticed that night was beginning to fall. He concentrated for a moment and a brightly colored warming aura surrounded the two of them. He then helped his wife up, never losing contact with her so that she would remain shielded from the cold. Marron had other ideas though. She gazed up at her husband seriously. "It happened so long ago. Why is it bothering you now?"

Yamcha squeezed his eyes tightly. He tried to remember his biological father, the man he never really knew and couldn't. Then his thoughts turned to Taro, his reluctant father whom he refused to think about until this day. And finally, he thought about his beloved granddad, the true father of his heart whose death was a crippling blow to a little boy's spirit.

He sighed and opened his eyes. Staring forlornly into those beautiful blue eyes of hers he explained, "Because I don't know if I can be the father I need to be."

Marron was stunned by his admission.

'How could he be saying this now?' She thought as she covered her still flat belly with her hands.

Where was the man who was confident and strong? Where was the man who said he wanted children with her? Had it all been a lie?

Marron wanted to shake him, question him. She believed in her heart that he loved her, but was his love for her strong enough to overcome the experiences from his past?

For the first time in their brief, but happy marriage Marron felt overwhelmed, out of her depth. She now understood how great the age gap between them truly was. It wasn't just the number of years, but the more than twice the lifetime of experiences with which she had to contend. How could one as young as she, deal with so many years of wandering, fear and self-doubt when others, had failed?

Well, maybe she didn't have experience, but she did have persistence and determination. And, she was also her father's daughter. Krillin was a man whose heart was so BIG that it changed a cold, merciless killing machine into a loving woman. He didn't give up and neither would she.

"Yamcha," she began, cupping his face in her hands. She forced him to look in her eyes.

"You made a promise to me, when we got married, remember?"

He stared blankly at her, unsure of where she was going with this.

"It was to stay together, 'til death do us part'. We both made that one, right?"

He nodded slowly, even though he still didn't understand. Marron dropped her hands down from Yamcha's face and grasped his hands tightly.

"Well, I'll make another promise to you. If you keep your promise to stay with me until one of us dies, I'll spend those days helping you learn to be the father I _know_ you can be."

"How can you…" he started to protest.

"I can because I do know what it's like to have a good father. And you know him too so you know what I'm talking about, right?"

He did understand and when he nodded this time, he meant it.

"But you have to keep _your_ promise," she said shakily, eyes starting to water.

"You have to stay with me, otherwise this won't work, okay?" Her tears were starting to fall now. She moved one of his hands to her belly and held it there.

"Okay," he whispered, his own tears starting to fall as well. He reached up and thumbed away one of her tears.

"Okay," he repeated, a bit stronger this time. The wind picked up and began to howl.

"Let's go home," he said before leading her out of the little graveyard.

Marron silently followed, leaving this place with a nagging, aching feeling. It was as if she were ending the day with a little less than what she had started and she feared for her marriage and her little family.

Marron glanced back at the grave of Yamcha's grandfather, though, and took heart. Her's was not the only love her husband knew. She would remind him of that and of their promises.

"Maybe," she prayed, it would be enough.

o-o-o

_One day, after many years of following the wind, the strange plant, landed in the garden of a beautiful young woman. Delighted by her unusual find, the woman planted it and coaxed its roots to take hold and grow. With time the plant grew straight and tall._

_Many months later, a storm came and tried to blow her plant away. The young woman wouldn't let it though, and she sheltered it until the storm passed. When the morning arrived there was much destruction but her plant was still there. And, because of her love, her strange plant produced the most beautiful flower anyone had ever seen._

_She plucked its flower and planted it. The flower grew into a large tree that brought shelter and shade to her garden. And even though her strange little plant eventually died, its flower lived on as the tree and brought comfort and delight to the woman for the rest of her days._

_The End._


End file.
